


Postal Service

by Dracothelizard



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Hair-pulling, Kink Meme, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: Written for the HH kinkmeme back in 2011.Prompt: "Dick's far more interested in the cute postie, than learning to write.Feel free to end it in sexytimes."





	Postal Service

James Smith had known this John Palmer fellow had been untrustworthy from the start. No one went around in a cape like _that_ and was an honest, hard-working sort of fellow. And the whole make-up thing, well, he knew there were aristocrats and noblemen who liked to wear it, but commoners? It wasn't exactly normal.  
  
So, John's arrest hadn't surprised him. His request, however, had.  
  
"He has a what?"  
  
"A letter," the postmaster repeated. "He wants to send a letter to his family. And I agreed. It's only fair, really, even if he is guilty."  
  
James had to agree with that. Just because someone was suspected of a crime didn't mean they suddenly lost all their rights, and the family had to be informed somehow. Might as well have the suspect do it himself.  
  
And that was how James found himself at the town's prison, which was really more of a reinforced shed with a padlock on the door and bars in front of the windows. Not a lot of crimes happened here, so there hadn't been a need for a proper prison.   
  
"Bill," he said, nodding at the farmer who was in charge with guarding John. "He been any trouble?"  
  
"Not today," Bill replied, and he wiped the sweat off his forehead. It was a warm, sunny day, and hats only did so much to keep the heat of the sun at bay. "Mostly been whinging about the postie being late." He snorted. "And when I say whinge..."  
  
He nodded. "Enough drama to fill a theatre?"   
  
"Yup. That boy missed his calling in life, if you ask me," Bill said. "Look, I haven't eaten since this morning, you won't mind if I leave for an hour, right?"   
  
"Well, I have got rounds to do..." James started, but then noticed the way Bill had raised his shovel. Never come between a farmer and his lunch. "But nothing that can't wait." He smiled nervously.  
  
"Knew I could count on you, James." Bill eyed. "You want the shovel?"  
  
He shook his head. John was unarmed, and it hadn't taken much to subdue him when he had been arrested. It wouldn't be a problem. "That's fine."  
  
"Suit yourself," Bill muttered, before leaving. "See you in an hour!"  
  
It would probably more than an hour, but there was nothing he could do about it now.  
  
*  
  
“Mr. Palmer?" he called through the door. "I've come to collect your letter. Please step away from the door."  
  
"Oh, _finally_!" came the cry from inside as James opened the door. John Palmer was reclining on the wooden bench, his hat tilted to one side, his messy black hair sticking out underneath. "Honestly, what does a man have to do to get some proper postal service?"  
  
"Not be a criminal," he replied.   
  
This led to an outraged gasp from Mr. Palmer. "A _suspect_! Not a criminal!"  
  
"They caught you red-handed with those chickens," James reminded the other man. "Now, can I have the letter?" Then he could just lock this strange man back up, and sit outside.   
  
Mr. Palmer handed him the letter with a huff. "I cannot _believe_ you are the local postie. It took you hours to collect this letter, how long will it take you to get it delivered? A year?"  
  
He ignored the annoyance. "Probably sooner than that, Mr. Palmer," he replied. "Now, have a nice day."  
  
Mr. Palmer sent him a glare. "They'll help me get out of this alive, you know," he said, and suddenly walked forward.  
  
James took an instinctive step back, and had to hold on to the door in order not to fall out of the shed. Mr. Palmer was standing chest to chest with him, far too close, and those dark eyes were still glaring at him. "Are - are they?"  
  
Mr. Palmer nodded, and slowly started to smile. "My family always comes through for me," he said. "And I promise I won't forget how you were involved in helping me win back my freedom."  
  
This was getting ridiculous, and James carefully stepped down from the raised shed. "I'm going to lock the door now."  
  
Mr. Palmer just smiled down at him. "You do that," he said quietly.  
  
He felt relieved when he shut the door in Mr. Palmer's face, and closed the padlock. What a strange, strange man. He sat down on the steps, and casually glanced at the letter, wondering where Mr. Palmer's family lived. Wait a minute... he recognised those loops on the 'g', those messy dots on the j's'and i's... but he had to be wrong.

There was no way that John Palmer was actually Dick Turpin, the worst pupil he had ever taught. He shuddered as the memories came back. How Turpin had been sullen and argumentative over the smallest of things, how he had always ended up with more ink on his face than on the paper, how he had claimed writing was stupid and useless anyway.  
  
James had to smile to himself. If John Palmer and Dick Turpin were one and the same, surely he had changed his tune about the uselessness of writing? "Excuse me, Mr. Turpin?" he asked.  
  
"What?" came the annoyed reply. "Do you need more stamps?"  
  
"I was only wondering if you want to change the name you used at the bottom of the letter," he replied, waiting for the realisation to strike with Turpin.   
  
"Ah."  
  
"Quite," he replied, then grinned. He had to gloat face to face. He simply had to, so he stood up and opened the door.   
  
"What are you doing?!" came Turpin's voice, a little panicked. "There's no need for that!"  
  
James grinned when he saw Turpin's worried face. "I can't believe you didn't recognise your favourite teacher, _Dick_."   
  
Turpin snarled at him, leaping forward. "Don't you _dare_ tell anyone who I am!"   
  
This time, James stood his ground, despite the unexpected closeness. "And why not? You're a highwayman who has robbed and killed innocent people."   
  
The snarl swiftly turned to a charming smile. "Only a _little_ bit," he said, and lowered his head. "I wasn't _that_ bad." He glanced up, blinking innocently.   
  
There was something about those dark, pleading eyes... no, he shouldn't think about that. "Be that as it may," he said, and knew his voice sounded a little shaky, "you're definitely a criminal, and you should hang for this."   
  
Turpin moved closer, and once again he was forced to cling to the doorway in order not to fall out. "Should I really?" he murmured, trailing his finger down James' jacket.   
  
"Y-yes." This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. "You should be punished."   
  
Turpin nodded at that. "Oh, I agree, Mr. Smith," his voice low and seductive. " He pressed himself against James, who gulped. "Are you going to?"   
  
"I, er, no!" James said, and found the courage to move away from Turpin. Only after a second did he realise that he should've moved backwards, out of the shed, instead of to the side. "No, I am going to the authorities with this. And they'll believe me, not you."   
  
"You don't really need to do that," Turpin purred, smiling at James. He suddenly moved closer again, pressing James against the wall of the shed. "There has to be _something_ I can do to change your mind..." This time, rather than one finger, Turpin let his hand travel down James' chest, eventually ending up in a rather private place.   
  
"No," James told him, although his privates disagreed vehemently. "That'd be wrong."  
  
"And Mr. Smith always does what's right? Never breaks the rules?" Turpin murmured. "Never acts reckless?"  
  
"N-not really." What he should do was shove Turpin away from him, run out, and alert the authorities. So why the hell wasn't he?   
  
Turpin smirked again. "Maybe it's time you did," he whispered into James' ear.  
  
James gasped as Turpin's hand _squeezed_. "I - I - stop that!" He knew he was blushing. Damn Turpin and his stupid hat and his stupid wavy hair and his stupid _stupid_ dark eyes, looking at James mischievously. "I will report you."   
  
"Of course you will," Turpin said, nodding slowly. "So why aren't you?"  
  
James was asking himself the same question as he looked back at Turpin. "You really were my worst pupil, you know."  
  
Turpin laughed at that. "You weren't exactly the greatest teacher. Always telling me off, never letting me have any fun."  
  
"You could've done with more discipline," James replied gruffly, trying to ignore how Turpin's hand was still on his privates, which were, despite what he wanted, starting to react. No wonder, considering that he was unmarried and his last fling with a barwench had been a year ago.   
  
Turpin's smile turned seductive again. "Do I?" he asked. "Why don't you, then? No need to give me up to the authorities if I'm properly _punished_."

James tried to suppress the thoughts that voice managed the create. The sort of thoughts he had hoped had been sorted out through flings with barwenches and milkmaids, but clearly not. "And then what?"  
  
"And then I am merely charged for Palmer's crimes," Turpin told him. "And you get what you want." Another meaningful squeeze of Turpin's hand, and James had to admit the argument was a convincing one. It was hard to think clearly with that hand on his privates and those wide dark eyes pleadingly looking at him. "Anything you want."  
  
Anything. James closed his eyed, trying to block out Turpin and the thoughts and all those things that he knew were _wrong_ but wanted anyway.   
  
"Something the matter?" Turpin asked, sounding far too innocent and pleased with himself.  
  
James opened his eyes quickly, amazed that Turpin's face was closer now. "No. Nothing."  
  
"Are you sure there's nothing on your mind?" Turpin insisted, his eyes pleading again. He bit his lip slowly. "Nothing you want?"   
  
Blast the consequences. There was enough evidence to send Turpin away to prison for years as it was. James raised his hand to grab Turpin by his ridiculous hair, and pulled him away.  
  
The sudden move made Turpin gasp, not just in pain. It also knocked his hat off, and made Turpin remove his hand from James' privates. "There is, then," Turpin muttered, leaning into James' grip. "I thought so."  
  
There was absolutely no reason for Turpin to look so smug about it. "Oh, be quiet," James told him.   
  
"Make me," Turpin replied, his breathing coming a little ragged.  
  
James raised an eyebrow. He had assumed that Turpin's seduction had been entirely to save his life, but that reaction suggested there was more to it. He tightened his grip on Turpin's hair, making the other man whine a little. "You always talked too much." He took a few steps to the other side of the shed, making Turpin turn around with him, and pulling him down by hair as James sat down on the wooden bench. Turpin ended up kneeling, his hands on the bench for support. "And never listened."  
  
"Listening now." Turpin was definitely paying him attention, his eyes focused on James with an eagerness that was new. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
So many things, James thought. So very many things that would be impractical or impossible in the confines of this shed. He looked down at Turpin, at the way he was _finally_ quiet and waiting for an order. So many things. What a waste. "Why don't we start with shutting you up once and for all?" It was a bit awkward trying to undo his breeches with one hand, but Turpin got the idea quite quickly and took over. "Not a completely useless pupil," he muttered, feeling a little smug.  
  
Turpin looked up, some defiance in his eyes. "You never did appreciate my skills."  
  
James tugged sharply at Turpin's hair, making him wince and gasp a little. "I've had enough of your _words_ , Turpin."  
  
Turpin gave him one last annoyed look, then lowered his head at least.  
  
And James had to admit, Turpin did have some definite skills once he stopped using his mouth for talking.


End file.
